


a law unto himself (it binds us together)

by Someone_aka_Me



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, barty crouch sr is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 12:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Someone_aka_Me/pseuds/Someone_aka_Me
Summary: When Bartemius Crouch Sr. decides that catching the Dark Lord is more important than obeying the letter of the law, he kidnaps Regulus Black and holds him in his basement. In the process, his son learns that there are lines he cannot cross.





	a law unto himself (it binds us together)

Regulus wakes up slowly, his head throbbing uncontrollably.

At first, he wonders what kind of insane bender he went on the night before night.

But then the fog starts to clear, and he realizes his hands are numb, pinned above his head. He's upright, propped against a wall of cool cement with his toes only just reaching the floor, leaving his shoulders bearing the brunt of his weight. He twists, trying to get a more solid footing, but it wrenches his shoulder and he bites back a scream.

This doesn't seem like it's going to end well for him.

The last thing he remembers is leaving his parents' house to meet with Travers for dinner.

His wrists are raw, and he notices then that they're pinned by shackles like the ones in Filch's office.

His robes have been removed, leaving him in black trousers and a light grey sweater. His wand, which was holstered at his wrist, is missing.

He tries to take in a deep, calming breath but the way his arms are pinned makes that impossible.

He wonders if this is how he dies.

He shifts again, trying desperately to lift some weight off his shoulders, but it just makes it worse. He can't hold back a whimper.

That's when a door opens, spilling light into the dim space. It burns, his eyes accustomed to the darkness, and he instinctively pulls away. It makes him lose his footing, dropping his whole weight onto his shoulders and the world is an inferno of pain and someone is screaming and maybe it's him.

The door closes.

Regulus gets the balls of his feet stable, supporting enough of his weight to let the pain settle into a dull burn.

He thinks he's alone again, but then the man speaks.

"Aw, does somebody need a hug?" And then the fake cheer disappears and his face goes still and sober. "Don't expect one from me," he says. "Tell me what you know about the rising menace they call the Dark Lord. I know you're one of his."

"I'm not," Regulus says, but his voice trembles. He's never been good at lies.

"You are. I know it. I just don't have the proof to arrest you. So we're going to do this here. You're going to tell me. Or you're going to regret it."

…

The boy in the basement is screaming.

Barty sits at the top of the staircase, door to the basement cracked open just an inch, just enough to break the silencing spell.

Just enough to let him hear the screams.

It's not like Barty doesn't know what his father is capable of.

His father believes he is doing what is right. He believes that the law trumps everything — justice, as he says, is more important than empathy.

Barty wonders if he agrees.

His father believes in the law, but he also believes in his own law above all.

And his own law says that anything is allowed if it means making the big arrest — capturing the man they call the Dark Lord.

HIs father has taken the law unto himself, and it involves the torture of a seventeen-year-old boy.

Barty doesn't understand his father's law.

He hauls himself to his feet and closes the dark mahogany basement door.

If he can't hear it, it isn't happening.

…

Barty's father has always been stern. He learned love from his mother and rules from his father.

But as Barty grew, his father grew stricter.

The whispers of a demon in the shadows, amassing power to rival Grindelwald, consumed him. He spent more and more time at work, doggedly chasing a man many thought no more than a rumour in the beginning.

He spent less and less time at home with his family. When he was at home, his temper was short and his exhaustion clear. The house was never clean enough and Barty was never polite enough and his meals were never good enough and it was always Barty or his mother at fault.

He became more and more obsessed with the rising Dark Lord.

But Barty still didn't think him capable of this.

…

When the man leaves, Regulus tries to exhale and it comes out in nothing more than a hiss of pain.

He has no sense of how much time has passed.

His left shoulder is ablaze with pain and he's fairly sure it has been dislocated. His shackles have been raised up so that no matter how he twists, his feet can't do more than scrape the floor. His wrists are torn from the metal of the shackles. His throat is raw from screaming.

It's not that he didn't know what pain felt like. The Dark Lord wanted his followers to be able to withstand the Cruciatus curse, and the man hadn't even used that.

Instead, he'd gotten creative.

A simple cutting curse can do a lot of damage, especially when well aimed. And anything hurts worse when his twitching body is suspended by his wrists, skin wearing thin.

But Regulus hasn't told him anything.

He wants to say it's out of loyalty, but in truth… In truth, he's seventeen years old and he just joined the Death Eaters and he's not sure they've earned his loyalty yet.

In truth, he's just more afraid of The Dark Lord than he is of his kidnapper.

…

His father leaves the basement.

The boy does not.

His father goes to bed.

Barty wants to open that door again, look for the boy, understand what his father has done. But his father is a light sleeper and he doesn't dare.

He doesn't sleep well, though. He's still thinking about the screaming.

In the morning, his father wakes at seven, as he usually does. He knocks on Barty's door and yells at him to get his lazy ass out of bed, as he usually does.

He waves his wand to make himself a cup of tea, black and scalding hot. He drinks it while he's reading the Prophet.

When he has finished, he looks up at Barty and his mother across the breakfast table. Barty is staring down at his oatmeal without eating. His mother is picking at a bowl of strawberries.

"What are your plans for the day?" he asks Barty.

This is not something he usually does.

Barty looks up at him, startled. "Me?"

"Yes, you," his father says, as though this is obvious.

Barty blinks. "I… er."

"Don't you have a job yet?"

"I'm… I'm fifteen."

His father scowls. "I had my first job at twelve."

Barty is well aware. He's also well aware that he will never live up to the standards of his father.

"That's… mostly illegal now," he can't help but say.

His father's scowl deepens. "Don't talk back to me. You know better."

Barty does.

But he's also thinking about the hypocrisy that is his rigid, law-abiding father holding a boy in the basement without proof of his guilt — because if there was proof, Barty knows, the boy would be in a Ministry holding cell or Azkaban by now.

And he's tired. And he's angry. And he's done living in fear. "I'm sorry," he says. And his father looks back down at his paper, but Barty isn't done.

"I'm sorry I'm not the son you wanted. I'm sorry that I'm not more like you. But you know what? I don't want to be like you. You care about the law and your own power more than you've ever cared about me."

Maybe it's stupid. Maybe he shouldn't be saying any of this. Maybe he's just adding fuel to the flame of his father's anger. Maybe he's done caring.

His father glares at him, fire in his eyes.

"Go to your room. Now."

Barty thinks about the boy in the basement. He thinks about his father, who should be leaving for work in less than an hour.

He goes to his room.

In the end, it doesn't take long for him to hear the sound of his father stepping up to the fireplace and using Floo powder to travel to work.

The house goes quiet.

Barty listens carefully, trying to place his mother, but she's always had a light tread and he can't hear anything that would tell him where she is.

He sighs. "Fuck it," he mutters. He eases the door open and casts a muffling spell on his feet, grateful as always for living in a magical household where his Trace doesn't work.

He steps carefully to the stairs and waves his wand, checking for wards. The silencing ward remains, the circuit completed by the closed door. It is the only one he can detect.

He suspects his father is largely relying on the fact that the basement is his domain and his alone. Barty and his mother never venture down there. Barty has seen no reason to. Not until he watched from his bedroom window as his father brought an unconscious figure into the house in the dark of night.

He cracks the basement door open, slips through, and pulls it shut behind him. He lights his wand, gripping it tightly, and carefully moves down the wooden steps.

It's not until he gets much closer that the boy looks up.

Barty is startled to realize he recognizes the piercing, light grey eyes that look back at him.

Regulus Black was a Slytherin to Barty's Ravenclaw and two years older, so they didn't exactly run in the same circles, but Barty knows him all the same. Barty could never help but notice him. Regulus was, when in his element, strikingly attractive, grey eyes fierce and piercing, cheekbones high and jawline sharp.

Right now, though, he mostly just looks broken. His grey eyes are wild, screaming. His face, meanwhile, is carefully blank.

Barty moves in closer. Regulus eyes him cautiously.

Barty's eyes roam. Regulus' wrists are red, swollen, clearly rubbed raw by the metal encasing them. His shoulder is twisted at an angle that doesn't look natural.

"Here to finish your father's work?" Regulus finally asks. His voice sounds like rocks on a chalkboard, scraped raw.

"Don't you recognize a rescue when you see one?" Barty counters.

He watches the hope grow in Regulus' eyes. Watches the longing for freedom surface. It makes him look… stripped bare. Vulnerable.

"Why?" Regulus rasps.

Barty takes a deep breath and pastes on a cocky smile, because he refuses to admit how uneasy it made him feel to know his father was keeping a  _person_  in their basement. "Because you're too pretty to rot away down here," he says.

He expects the line to make Regulus back off, flinch away. It's what usually happens when Barty comes anywhere near flirty with another boy. It's why he doesn't, usually. It's a last-ditch defense mechanism, because it's all too easy to wink and smile and pretend it doesn't mean a damn thing.

But Regulus' light grey eyes darken slightly and he doesn't look appalled.

Barty tries not to wonder.

Instead, he waves his lit wand at the shackles, unlocking them and stepping forward as Regulus falls.

Unsurprisingly, Regulus' legs don't hold. He pitches forward, and Barty grabs him, keeping him from collapsing on the floor. Regulus tries to smile but it turns out more like a grimace.

"Thanks," he says.

Barty doesn't think he's earned any thanks, so he just smiles somewhat wryly and helps Regulus to his feet.

"What will your father do? When he realizes I'm gone?"

Honestly, Barty's been trying not to think about it.

The truth is, he doesn't know. It's going to be fairly simple to guess what happened, even if Barty spins it to look like Regulus escaped on his own.

Barty's never pleased his father before, but he's never exactly outright disobeyed, either. He's not sure he wants to find out the consequences.

He's not sure he has a choice.

In the end, he just shrugs and helps Regulus up the stairs.

…

The boy staging his rescue is young. His eyes are a warm brown, more innocent than anyone Regulus talks to anymore. He helps Regulus outside without another word after his flirty opening line.

He looks at Regulus, brown eyes looking contemplative.

"I'll go get your wand," he says finally. Regulus blinks, and the boy is gone.

Regulus is running on pure adrenaline at this point — he can't even guess how long it's been, but he's had no food or water and the deprivation is wearing on him. His rapidly diminishing strength makes itself known.

He sinks into the dirt beside the house, where the boy had left him.

Minutes later, the boy returns.

Regulus takes his wand, gratefully feeling the warmth it kindles under his skin.

"What's your name?" he asks the boy.

The boy looks at him. His face is calm, but his eyes are vaguely terrified.

"Barty," he says. His voice comes out faint. "We should… You should probably leave."

"Would…" Regulus hesitates. But he remembers that kind of terror; he remembers it in Sirius' eyes as he thought about facing their mother. "Would you like to come?"

Barty frowns. "What?"

The thing is, Regulus doesn't do this. Regulus doesn't do things without thinking them through.

But he remembers the day he found out his mother had hexed his brother.

And he remembers the look on Sirius' face when he walked out the door for the last time.

He thinks about letting Barty walk back into that house, knowing that's what he's going back to, and he  _can't_.

He sighs. "I've got a place you could stay for the next three weeks, until school. By next year I was planning on having an apartment. You could stay with me."

Barty looks at him, absolutely baffled. " _Why?"_

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek. "Because you saved my life."

Barty blinks at him and then glances back at the house.

"Please." His voice is low and broken and the surprise that crosses his face tells Regulus that he didn't mean to say it.

And Regulus can't leave him behind.

…

_One Year Later_

Barty leans against the railing of their tiny balcony and takes a drag from his cigarette.

He breathes out, long and steady.

"Why are you awake, babe?"

Barty turns to the door, finding his boyfriend standing there, hair mussed, eyes bleary.

Barty smiles.

"I was just thinking," he says. Regulus squints at him.

"Good thoughts?"

Barty shrugs.

"You know," he says thoughtfully. "A year ago, my asshole father kidnapped you in an attempt to get information out of you."

Regulus hums.

"I never thought it would lead here," Barty says.

Regulus steps toward him, leaning in for a kiss and stealing Barty's cigarette as he does so.

"You mean not every kidnapping leads to a new boyfriend?" Regulus asks, grinning.

"I don't know," Barty says with a grin in return. "Maybe I should try it."

Regulus growls low in his throat. "Don't you dare."

Barty tips his head back and laughs.


End file.
